


Dancing Cheek to Cheek

by whichstiel



Series: Season 15 Codas [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dancing, Episode Tag, Episode: s15e10 The Heroes Journey, M/M, Salsa dancing, episode coda, spn 15x10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22387360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: It's salsa night at the bar! And Dean's always thought he could be a good dancer if he wanted to be.Sam and Eileen have already managed to slip out of their company and head for the quiet streets to “get some air.” Garth and Bess glow together, happily in sync. This ostensible double date with fifth wheel has turned into an unstable, three-wheeled contraption.But that won't stop Dean from having a little fun. Dean learns some basic dance moves, but when Cas arrives he finally understands the thrill of dancing.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Season 15 Codas [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514042
Comments: 18
Kudos: 130





	Dancing Cheek to Cheek

“So there I was, a dental pick in one hand and a scaler in the other and there’s an actual, murderous tooth fairy caught in my tooth trap in the waiting room at the clinic!” 

Garth’s eyes shine as he regales the other people at their end of the bar with his hunting origin story. Bess smiles indulgently like she’s heard it eighty times, and is prepared to hear it on repeat for at least two hundred more. It’s clear that the other bar patrons don’t believe a word Garth is saying, but that doesn’t really matter. It’s still a damn good story, any way you swallow it. 

Dean leans more heavily on the bar top, running a finger around the cool base of his glass, and enjoys Garth’s enthusiastic description of a waiting room full of pillows, each hiding a tooth (a tooth trap). Teeth under pillows is apparently akin to spilled rice for other fae, and Garth used his tooth traps to distract the fairy while he circled around it from behind. The sheer floral-patterned audacity of the strategy seems perfectly Garth. 

Dean takes a long sip of his drink and the burn of it momentarily glues his tongue to his mouth. It’s been a while since he’s been out for just a leisurely night at a bar (and not nursing whiskey mid-hunt). It should be nice. Relaxing. Instead, his heart beats a stuttering rhythm, in time with the bold brass music. _Why’d I let them talk me into this?_ On the wall beside the bar, a large poster shouts about Salsa night. Tonight. Fates help him. The dancing starts soon. 

Just after they arrived, Cas muttered some excuse about needing to run an errand. And what would he even need to do, anyway? It’s eight p.m. on on a Friday night and most of the businesses in this podunk town are closed already. Dean would bet hard money that Cas sits out the entire evening, smug and alone on some park bench. Lucky bastard. Dean would join him except...

Sam and Eileen have already managed to slip out of their company and head for the quiet streets to “get some air.” This ostensible double date with fifth or sixth wheel has turned into an unstable, three-wheeled contraption. Garth and Bess glow together, happily in sync. Dean grins at them. How could he not? It’s good to see his friends happy, even if it gives him a twinge of jealousy. Just a twinge. 

The good news is that the bar is teeming with women. Several of them wear wide, flaring dresses and there’s more than one sporting some kind of slinky, retro fringe-covered thing. Dean’s into it. He stares past Garth’s animated storytelling and focuses on the few couples who have already starting dancing on their own. They’re good - whoever they are - and perfectly in sync as they whirl and shuffle and spin. Dean watches their moves, trying to commit them to memory. He’s always thought he could dance, if he really tried. So when Sam had suggested salsa night at the bar the next city over, Dean had agreed before he’d really thought it through. Now, he wishes he’d watched a few more videos. Now, he wishes he’d practiced a bit more. _Give me a monster to kill and I’m gold._ Dean took another nervous swig. _But dance?_

The song ends, and then the music cuts out. The two couples in the middle of the floor stop with a graceful flourish and address the small crowd. “Welcome to salsa night, everybody! It’s great to see so many new people tonight. Feel free to partner up, or watch the demo. We’re going to go through some basic steps before we get started.”

The bar transforms from a typical scene with patrons at tables sipping drinks, to an almost musical-chairs level nonsense as people scramble to partner up. There are clear groups: people who have arrived together expressly to dance with one another or old pros who’ve already locked down their partner for the night. But there are also stragglers, like him. A woman approaches him at the bar. She has warm eyes, a wide smile, and introduces herself as Adrika. “Looking for a partner?”

Dean grins. That was easy. “Sure,” he says, gathering his confidence like a cape and draping it over himself. “Have you ever done this before?” he asks as they head to the center floor with the other dancers. 

“Only once, like fifteen years ago in college. My friends dragged me here.” She nods to two women nearby. Her friends both wear bright dresses with wide belts and very high heels, and their arms are looped around each others’ waists. They look like they’ve come here to fight, West-side-story style. Salsa night, as Dean was informed, isn’t a competition. But if it was, these ladies are here to win. “I’m having regrets,” Adrika confesses. 

“We’re just having fun,” Dean says. His feet feel mismatched as he steps onto the cleared dance floor. _This must be what Sam feels like all the time,_ he thinks, and the brotherly insult instantly makes him feel better. Normal. 

The basic steps don’t seem too difficult. Dean and Adrika parrot the moves of the instructors on the floor and when it comes time to put it all together, Dean feels like he might be getting the hang of it. Twirling is unexpectedly difficult. They tell him he should use his wrist to guide her, but at best they seem to accomplish agonized looks and a little friction burn as they both try to twist in opposite directions. 

When the music starts, he and Adrika attempt to dance. It’s not awful, and it’s helped along by the humor in Adrika’s eyes when they step on each others’ feet, or spin the wrong way, or get lapped by her incredibly talented friends when they dance past with their show smiles painted on. Through the whirl, Dean occasionally glimpses Garth and Bess. Their form, as far as Dean can tell, is marked by Garth’s general loping gait. But they still flow together like water, or maybe they’re just so happy that Dean can’t tell the difference. 

After a few songs, Adrika begs a break and heads to the bathroom. Dean wanders back towards the bar, surprised to find that he’s having fun and taking comfort in feeling like he’s blending well enough into the crowd to let loose a little bit. He’s just taking a sip when a dramatic pause in the music drags through the room like a sensuous finger, slowing the dancers and drawing them close. 

The crowd parts like clouds evaporating and suddenly… _Cas_. 

Dean catches a glimpse of his friend and then, drawn inexorably back towards him, gets another long look. _What is he wearing?_

Accustomed to seeing Cas in a trench and suit, Dean gapes across the room at his friend who has ditched his coat, and replaced his suit coat and shirt with something that looks like buttery silk. The shirt clings to him, bright as the blue in a peacock feather. The top third of the buttons are undone and, paired with Castiel’s slim belt and usual trim slacks, the eyes are drawn…well...down. 

“This can’t be real,” Dean mutters aloud and pinches himself for good measure. _Still awake._

Dean finds himself crossing the room before he entirely makes up his mind to move, and he raises one hand in greeting as dancers pass between them. 

Cas scans the room, his mouth drawn down in his usual slight frown. There’s something familiar about it that settles Dean, and he grins.

“Cas,” Dean calls over the music. “Hey!”

But suddenly a woman steps between them and holds out her hand imperiously in the universal sign for, _Shall we dance?_ Cas startles, then takes her hand.

“Oh,” Dean says, stepping back again. He should find a new partner if Adrika is going to take too much longer, but he finds that he can’t look away.

Cas is dancing. Cas is _good_. 

“Holy shit,” Dean mutters. Because while Cas isn’t some expert level prodigy, he’s got _moves_ . He’s got _footwork_ . Most notably, he can do that _spin thing._

Dean moves back against the bar, utterly absorbed in watching this new facet of his friend emerge. _When the hell did Cas learn how to dance?_

When the song is over, Cas bequeaths an awkward smile to his dance partner and then gestures to the bar pointedly. The woman shrugs, blows him a kiss, and then melts back into the crowd in search of someone new. 

Dean greets Cas with a solid clap on the shoulder and a smile. “Where did you learn how to dance?”

Cas lifts a shoulder, looking pleased. His hair is a little wild from the whirl of the dance, and while Dean suspects he’s trying to play it cool, he glows with quiet pride. “YouTube,” he says like it’s no big deal. 

“YouTube,” Dean parrots flatly. “You’re joking. This isn’t some Metatron angel brain thing?”

Cas tilts his head, brow furrowed. “He passed on to me extensive pop culture references, but I’m fairly certain that he had no interest in dancing or other physical endeavors of the flesh.”

The choice of words chases a shiver up Dean’s spine, which he hides by signaling the bartender for drinks.

“Unless waffles and whipped cream count.”

“Whipped cream,” Dean can’t help but choke out, before he clears his throat. “Uh. Well, I’m impressed man. You pick this all up this week? Or is this a long-standing interest of yours?”

“We all agreed to go dancing,” Cas says a little cooly. “I wanted to be prepared.”

“Yeah. No, that’s great. You did good, Cas.” He grabs his drink and slides the other over to Cas. 

“Are you dancing?” Cas asks. He squints around the room. “And where are Sam and Eileen?”

“They bailed, I’m pretty sure.” Dean waggles his eyebrows to indicate exactly what kind of activity he thinks they’re up to. “But Bess and Garth are still tearing it up. And I was out on the floor but my dance partner, ah…” Dean looks around. “Maybe bailed too. I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Cas smiles at Dean, warm and familiar. “Okay.” 

They drink in companionable silence, watching the dancing. The crowd swells and ebbs and soon enough, Dean finishes his drink.

Cas does the same, in one smooth motion, and sets the glass onto the bar. He leans one elbow back and it pulls the satiny shirt against the contours of his broad shoulder and exposes a section of his clavicle. Dean’s attention is immediately drawn - and glued to - the exposed skin at the hollow of his throat. “So what’s with the shirt?” Dean asks. He can’t look away.

“I thought I should find something suitable. Bess gave me some tips. There was a department store open not too far from here. I changed at the car?” Uncertainty creeps into his tone, so Dean hastily leans in.

“You look good.” _Oh no._ That came out a little huskier than he’d intended, so Dean punctuates that with a light shoulder check. 

Cas is turned towards Dean now, close enough that Dean can feel the warmth from his body and the brush of that damn shirt against his flannel. 

“Do you want to dance?”

“Sure?” Dean starts to turn towards the dance floor. They’ll need to find partners and that’ll save him from—

Cas grabs Dean’s hand. He pulls. 

Dean follows him onto the dance floor. 

Protest sputters at the edge of his tongue. This wasn’t what he meant. But Cas strides a half step ahead of him, shoulders back and loose and a growing grin lighting the corners of his face. 

So. Okay.

The music blares and Cas’s hand is a warm pressure, drawing them close. They pause among the dancers, like leaves frozen in the air. _We’re really doing this,_ Dean thinks. He’d stop and pull away like a skittering animal except that Cas’s smile is soft and his eyes are a little too afraid. Like he’s overfilled with longing and nerves and given the slightest wrong nudge, he’ll shut down like an overloaded circuit. 

Dean can understand that feeling perfectly. They pause, draw together. Dean places his other hand on Cas’s waist, and Cas does the same, his touch reverent. They face each other, frozen, until the dance catches them up likes a whirlwind. 

Dancing feels different when Dean isn’t trying to lead. Cas turns and twists him quickly - close, apart, close apart, turn. It feels natural. It feels...fun. 

Dean doesn’t realize he’s grinning until he notices Cas’s shuttered expression has absolutely fallen away. It’s joy, Dean decides. It’s also something else. Something deeper. A reciprocal feeling bubbles up and Dean has a moment, as the bar reels in his vision, to make a choice. Pull away, or go all in.

Hell. Life’s too short to stop. He lets his fingers wander further when they pull together. There’s Cas’s wrist below the silken cuff. There’s his waist as he turns. There’s his hip straining against the movement of the dance. 

When the song ends, Dean’s made up his mind. He catches his breath and leans in. “I need some air, man.”

Cas’s expression falls suddenly, like an anvil from the sky. 

“You coming?” Dean tugs at him, and this time Dean’s the one who’s leading. 

Outside, the night smells crisp and earthy, ripe with spring-plowed fields. The stars aren’t too visible. Dean can just make out Orion’s belt beyond the glare of the nearest streetlight. He tugs Cas around the corner of the bar where a narrow alley splits the buildings. He pushes Cas against the wall, testing the waters. Damn, that shirt feels good. 

Cas looks surprised and considerably more disheveled than when they’d been at the bar. “Dean?” he asks. 

Dean wets his lower lip and drops his attention to Cas’s mouth, which parts with his indrawn breath. “That was nice,” Dean says, and doesn’t bother to temper the register of his voice. “Did you like that?” He takes a step forward, spreading his hand and letting it slide forward - just a little - until his palm begins to curve along Cas’s pectoral. 

Cas nods. He nods some more. 

Dean steps all the way in. His leg slots between Cas, their hips meet. Dean lets go of Cas’s hand just long enough to move his hand up to wind urgently into his hair. It just takes the slightest tug for Cas to tumble forward into his body and against his lips. 

At first their kiss is frantic, a little too hard and not quite on target. There’s a lot poured into that first kiss, so much that Dean can feel it all swelling up like a king cobra in his throat. 

Cas lays a careful palm against Dean’s waist. He cups his other hand along the curve of Dean’s cheek. “Dean,” he gasps between them. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with the utter astonishment he hears in Cas’s voice, and replies by redoubling his effort to explore Cas’s mouth. To curl his toes in pleasure. 

Time passes. Probably. Inside the bar music blares, muted through the wall and glass-brick windows. Nobody disturbs them in the shadowed alley. Still, Dean pulls away with a shudder of mounting pleasure mixed with fear. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.” Cas’s look is blazing when Dean meets his eyes. “More than okay. I’ve wanted—“

A laugh bubbles out. “Yeah. I know— I know the feeling.” His fingers slip on Cas’s shoulder. _Oh_. He’s still gripping him there. Dean brushes the pads of his fingers along the fabric. “Was this for me?” he asks with a little smirk. 

Cas drops his eyes, mouth drawing up into a mischievous smirk of his own. 

“Am I that easy?” Dean asks. “All it takes is a change of clothes?”

“You are _not_ easy,” Cas says with such feeling that Dean guffaws. “But worth it. Every day.”

 _Well, shit. If he’s gonna pull that out—_ Dean rewards Cas with his lips. Dean rewards Cas with his hips and the press of his hands along that silky-soft shirt. 

Intensity mounts between them. Dean’s lost in it, lost in the background tempo and the solid warmth of Cas under his hands and against his body. He’s getting hard and Cas is - _god -_ Cas is too. Dean slides his hand to the mound of Cas’s ass and squeezes hard. He pulls, he kneads. He _wants._ By Cas’s response, he’s right along with him, caught in this storm. 

When Dean murmurs, asking if they should maybe find somewhere a little more private, Cas agrees. Together, they melt into the night. 

* * *

Over an hour later, one riverside bench has been utterly defiled and Dean’s holding onto Cas as they settle at the scene of the crime, their arms and hands twined like mating swans. 

There’s a chirp from his phone. From Cas’s phone too. Dean groans and pulls it out. 

Garth has sent a message to their group text. “You guys bailed! Missed out on a great time. Maybe another time? We’re heading home.”

Dean frees his other hand and types, “Sorry. Not my scene tonight. Rain check, ok?”

“That was absolutely your scene.” Cas sounds amused.

“Shut up.” Dean shoots a mock glare at Cas who has hilariously buttoned up his lothario shirt to the very top now that he’s apparently gotten what he’d hoped out of the evening. “You text that and—“

“And what?” Challenge sparks in Cas’s eyes. He tilts his chin consideringly. “I enjoyed myself thoroughly.” 

“You danced _twice_.” 

“So did you. It was fun. Like fighting but...”

Dean laughs. “Like _fighting_? Fighting.”

“But fewer injuries.” 

His mouth still tilted up in amusement, Dean considers it. Dancing did feel a little like fighting. A bad fight, where you were just out of sync and the blows land hard, or a good fight where the world conspires to make you its weapon and you cut through the air like you’re made of it. Where it just feels right. _Good_. “Tell that to the girl I danced with before you. Pretty sure I crushed her toes.”

“Too bad.” Cas slides a hand over Dean’s thigh and then, rather possessively, between the vee of his legs, settling his palm along the inner seam of Dean’s jeans. Dean jumps, shivers, and lets his legs fall open a little more. “Guess you’ll have to stick with me.”

“Guess so.” Dean doesn’t bother to hide his pleased groan. He takes Cas’s hand and began to lead it up… Up….

It’s time to dance.

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write a coda about Garth's first hunt because I had entirely forgotten that we learned his origin story in season 8. And then I thought about dancing...
> 
> When I was in college, there was a big boom in salsa dancing with tons of bars hosting salsa night. I went a few times with friends and was a TERRIBLE dancer. (I still am.) But one night I partnered briefly with one of the "expert" dancers and it was suddenly easy. Like I'd been trying to fly by flapping my arms and then someone casually loaned me wings. "Oh," I remember thinking. "This is what it's supposed to feel like to be led in a dance." (And not locked in battle with another amateur.)
> 
> And so....it was time for Dean to dance :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/whichstiel) and [Tumblr](http://whichstiel.tumblr.com/) @ whichstiel. You may also like the Supernatural recap and gif blog I co-write/curate, [Shirtless Sammy](https://shirtlesssammy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
